I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. The only experience I had had with military men prior to my husband were my grandfathers. My dad’s dad was in the Army as a young man, but was not a lifer. My mom’s dad was a career Navyman. When he retired after twenty years, he continued to work with them in the civilian sector. Neither one of them would have ever been described as soft. Though they had their moments, of course. But they were not Marines.

Marines are a different make and model. As they will tell you, not everyone is cut out to be one. My husband was a lifer. Had he not been injured, I’m sure he would have stayed in until they kicked him out and then, as my Grandpa did, would have found a way to work with or for them until he couldn’t anymore. He’s stubborn that way.

I was raised by card carrying members of the hippie tribe. They are anti war and free love and tree huggers–though they are not so much war protest as peace rally. This upbringing of mine in no way prepared me for a life with a military man. Nor, at times, does my husband know what to do with me. Had I known what being married to a Marine meant before I did it, I might not have done it. It would have seemed overwhelming.

But I am glad I did not know. Because not only have we been in loving friendship for ten years with a beautiful son as well. Not only have I had the privilege of learning about life from this other perspective. But had I not married this man, this warrior, I would not have known of one of my purposes on this earth. Part of my job here is to show my Marine that the way is not always hard. That love and kindness are valid and necessary emotions. Soldiers, I think, have trouble with these emotions because they are not helpful emotions to have in wartime. The military does its very best to create soldiers who have the best chance possible of surviving and coming home. That means fast, strong, smart, brave, aggressive traits are cultivated. Anything else is not.

I long for the day when we have no need for a military. When we as a planet are able to use our words to problem solve and not our fists. But until that time has come…

Somewhere on a wall, there is a Marine

Standing up for my freedom to protest against him.

Somewhere on a gravestone, there is a name

A memory of someone’s loved one who did not come home.

Someone who stood up to protect the ideals that we forget we have because we don’t know what it’s like not to have them.

Someone who fell on a battlefield, fighting to survive and come home safe.

Someone who deserves recognition for having done the best job he could at one of the worst jobs we could ask him to do.

I do not believe in war.

I have never met a soldier who had truly been to war who didn’t long for peace.

Who knew full well the cost of war and was willing to pay it, but shouldn’t have to.

I support our troops.

I support our troops by trying to ensure that their lives are not wasted on petty politics. I support our troops by trying to ensure that if we are going to ask of them the ultimate sacrifice, that they, and their families, are paid a decent wage. It is the very least that we can do. I support our troops by trying to ensure that when they come home as veterans they are given the respect they deserve and the care they need.

As my husband likes to say, “Ours is not to reason why. Ours is but to do and die.”

And he is correct. It is not the job of a member of the military to reason why. Don’t join the military if you want to reason why. Because that is our job. As civilians, as citizens of this nation, it is our duty and responsibility to reason why. To exercise the freedoms that have been so dearly bought. To hold our politicians and admirals accountable for their actions.